Redemption
by evermores
Summary: In which Draco sets off with the Golden Trio on a quest for redemption and finds more than he ever could have hoped for.


I.

As far as anyone was concerned, this was not Draco's idea.

He glared around at the three other 16 year olds who were similarly trying to regain their balance. Ron was doing a very good impression of Professor Flitwick after too much pumpkin juice, if that was what he was aiming for, and somewhere along the way, Harry's glasses had broken in half and he hadn't noticed it yet. Hermione's hair could really use a good pair of hedge clippers, and Draco - well, Draco was lucky there wasn't a mirror around because it would probably have broken, had he looked in it. Who knew Time Turners could mess up your appearance that bad? Or, you know, more important things than Draco's hair (although there weren't many) like oh, his center of gravity?

No, this was not what Draco had in mind when he'd collapsed in to Dumbledore's office the day summer holiday ended.

Dumbledore, of course, had been Draco's only option. He despised the old man, with his oddly shaped glasses and that knowing smile he wore when he really didn't know anything at all. And he'd been _so_ understanding, when Draco, for whom this was an all new low, spilled the Dark Lord's entire plan to him.

As if Draco wasn't already fresh out of dignity, who should Dumbledore call in but the Golden Boy himself and his two favorite followers. And even if Draco did have some secret admiration for Harry somewhere deep down he wasn't ready to admit, the 'Boy Who Lived,' or whatever they were calling him nowadays, would not have been Draco's first choice.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of other options.

Of course, Hermione, 'the brightest witch of her age,' and all that, had put her head right together with the damn headmaster as if they'd been doing it for years, and devised the most outrageous plan Draco had ever had the pleasure to hear. And being a brand new Death Eater and all that, he'd heard a lot.

But certainly, traveling like, 10,000 years back in time to see the very person he was running from had to be the worst.

Traveling with Time Turners was a lot like being dragged through a pool tied to an enraged hippogriff. Not that Draco would know, or anything. As if that wasn't disconcerting enough, watching a broom closet on rewind was not helping. Just because, you know, they couldn't just appear in the middle of potions. Not to mention the chain wasn't actually all that long, and Ron wasn't exactly _small._

Draco couldn't remember exactly what year Hermione had picked, but hey, he had a lot more important stuff on his mind than things like dates. But that didn't mean his hair had to look like he'd just walked out of Hagrid's cabin. "_Scourgify_," he muttered, siphoning the dirt from his robes. He ran his hands over his hair, not caring about the look Hermione was giving him, until he was satisfied that he could look like a presentable Malfoy. His mother had always said something along the lines of appearance being everything. Who cared if the Malfoy family was falling apart at the seams inside? As long as they still looked like the most prestigious family since the Weasleys started marrying Mudbloods, no one asked any questions. Not that anyone dared.

Besides, Draco was still waiting for Harry to notice that his glasses were broken.

II.

Maybe Draco just paid more attention than anyone else, but he was getting sick of Harry's glasses. He knew there were simple potions that fixed your sight but Harry had either never heard of them, which wasn't surprising, or maybe Harry liked looking like an owl, how was Draco supposed to know? "_Occulus reparo_," he said, under his breath, flicking his wand slightly at Harry. He smirked slightly, returning his expression to cold indifference when Harry jumped and sent a sidelong glance his way.

Hermione had tied her shrubbery, sorry, _hair_ back with a band of some kind, and Ron was still walking rather unsteadily. Draco was sure she had a plan of some kind, didn't she? Either way, she walked like she did, the letter of enrollment Dumbledore had written with a shriveled looking hand under the name Abraham Cusp clutched unhealthily tight in her right hand, and all three of them had to rush to keep up with her, even Ron, whose stride equaled that of about half an elephant, if that made any sense. Draco was pretty sure his mind was still jumbled. If this was how apparation left people, Draco would be riding a broom stick for the rest of his life.

"Alright," Hermione said, breaking the tense silence, their footsteps resounding uncomfortably loud in the empty corridors. It was extremely early morning, that Draco knew. No matter how much had changed about Draco's surroundings, including the unfamiliar portraits who watched them sleepily as they passed, nothing had changed about the red sky above the lake before the sun rose at dawn.

"Alright," she repeated, catching an annoyed glare from Draco, and the tired attention of Harry and Ron. "This is what we're going to do. We show them the letter. We've obviously already been sorted," she said, gesturing to their attire, "except for one small change." Oh, she had to mention that. Draco flinched visibly, although he wasn't sure it was worth the look she gave him.

"Naturally," Hermione continued, "we don't want to all be in Gryffindor, but we also can't leave Draco alone in Slytherin alone with Tom-"

"I could have handled it!" Draco snapped with annoyance. He hadn't agreed with this part of the plan. Well, he hadn't agreed to any of it, but especially not this part.

"Like you handled You-Know-Who's newest assignment?" Ron shot at him, and Draco was definitely not allowing him to see how deep that cut.

Hermione reached out to smack him with the letter. "Stop it!" She commanded, and immediately all three turned to look at her. "We're supposed to stick together! Besides, it's already getting light out, and we don't have much time to brief." She glared at the three of them.

"Ugh," Hermione said, in frustration. "And now I've lost my train of .. Anyway. Since leaving Draco on his own with Tom was _not_ an option, Ron is so very kindly joining Draco in Slytherin." Ron glared in annoyance at his green and grey tie.

"He certainly is nasty enough," Harry joked unhelpfully, earning himself a dark look from Ron.

"At least we Slytherins don't feel the need to save the world all the-"

"Yeah, because you're usually the one's messing it up!"

This time, Harry was the one to be hit with the envelope. "Look," Hermione said, in what Draco considered to be her version of Dumbledore's 'I understand everything' voice, "I know we're all cranky this morning, including me, but for Merlin's sake we need to work together, okay?" She looked pointedly at all of them, pausing at Draco, for whom it took a second to realize he was supposed to nod.

"Now," Hermione continued, as Draco began to wonder whether if she ever shut up, "We are going to go in to this office, and we are going to act like we know exactly what we are doing, hmm?" Draco took the liberty to be the first to nod, earning himself an approving although somewhat surprised look from Hermione. They were approaching the headmaster's office anyway, and he just wanted to shut her up, but Draco still felt somewhat proud of himself. He caught on fast. Nod, and keep your mouth shut, and eventually she stops talking.

Hermione, no matter how composed she had been in the corridor, apparently shut down under pressure. It had been Harry who had done all of the talking, and by all, Draco meant _all._ Harry followed Dumbledore's story religiously, which was rather like him, in Draco's opinion.

They were transfer students, adopted by a wealthy but obscure couple. They'd been to Hogwarts before as first years, and had already been sorted. Ron earned himself a rather concerned look from the headmaster Draco hadn't bothered to remember the name of for glaring at his tie as though he planned to incinerate it later. Draco decided they were going to have to work on that if Ron had plans to ever become a socially acceptable Slytherin.

As soon as they'd set foot outside the office, however, Hermione had opened her mouth right back on up, going off on some tangent about the research she'd done on Tom Riddle, which Draco had learned was apparently the Dark Lord's real name. It wasn't like You-Know-Who gave history lessons, Draco thought wryly.

So far, Draco had recognized approximately 3 people. The first one was his lovely grandfather Abraxus, and Draco decided he was going to praise his mother for her good looks because Draco was very lucky he wasn't just inheriting his Father's genes. Abraxus, to put it lightly, at least, was neither the sharpest tool in the shed, nor the shiniest.

The second person Draco had the pleasure of knowing was something or another Black, a noble name that made Draco smile slightly. At least some things never changed, and all that.

Tom Riddle was Draco's least favorite acquaintance. Draco had sat next to him unknowingly in his quest to look like he had absolutely no idea who the tall red headed boy with the freckles and glare sitting alone at the very end of the table was. It wasn't like Ron would want to sit next to him, Draco knew, but he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty every time he glanced in that direction. At least this time Draco wasn't the one on the receiving end of Hermione's sympathetic looks like he had been in Dumbledore's office.

It wasn't like Draco was absolutely thrilled to be working with the Golden Trio either, but Ron wasn't making it easy. Why couldn't Harry be the one in Slytherin? They might've been mortal enemies, but at least Harry could swallow his pride enough to oh, you know, have a civil conversation with Draco. But of course, Harry was too gallant and had that 'save the world' attitude that wouldn't fit in with the rest of the Slytherins. Not that Ron was doing a very good job either.

Draco, on the other hand, was used to the cold stares and the harsh words. He'd grown up with it. Hell, Father beat the house elves senseless when he was angry or drunk or both. Draco had thick enough skin to be in the green and grey. But Ron? Well, good luck.

So it was easy, mindless even, the way Draco sat smack down in the middle of the Slytherin table and started shaking hands. What he had not expected to be sitting next to him was the earliest, most unrecognizable version of the Dark Lord Draco had ever not hoped to meet. There was approximately one thing the same, that being the eyes that made Draco feel like he was being looked at under a Muggle telescope.

"Tom," was all the boy had to say. He commanded attention, absorbed it, even. The way it ultimately all came natural to him made Draco exceedingly uncomfortable. "Draco," he responded tersely, eying the other's hand with apprehension. This felt like a sort of test, and Draco did not enjoy being tested in anything. Including Manners 101 with the Dark Lord himself. They shook hands, and Draco decided that for the time being, he had passed.

IV.

All things considered, Gryffindors and Slytherins did not make good friends. They had far too many similarities, and their differences made up for no matter how much the two houses were alike. Besides, it wasn't like Draco wanted to be seen around Potter, who was currently continuing the story that he'd gotten his scar in a fight with a troll. Mighty pompous, if you asked Draco. Although no one ever did. As far as he was concerned, he was currently feeling the brunt of the blame, and it was well deserved. So what if he had dragged them in to this mess. It wasn't his fault He Who Must Not Be Named had decided to give_ him_ the order to kill Dumbledore. Draco was sure the Dark Lord could do it himself if he felt like it, but clearly he was above such things.

And at least Draco had gone for help from the good side, or whatever they were calling it. _Don't you see the light, Draco? _He thought bitterly. _Come to the good side, where we fight with the power of love._ Love, of all things. According to Harry, who had taken the liberty to fill Draco in on the fuzzy bits, it was his Mother's love that had saved him from Death by Dark Lord. It was a load of tosh in Draco's opinion, but seeing as he was the one who had come slinking back in to Hogwarts begging for help, his opinion wasn't currently all that valued.

And what was the point in coming here anyway, turning back time to do .. what, exactly? What had the plan even been? Surely changing the Dark Lord's ways was entirely out of the question. And killing him? Why, Draco highly doubted that had even come up as an option. Murder was clearly above the Golden Trio. Power of love, and all that shit. Not like the four of them really had that much to work with, though. Even Dumbledore seemed fresh out of ideas. So Draco was getting the impression that they were winging it. And, as Draco's impressions were usually correct, he didn't see much help in having these idiotic meet ups Hermione kept ordering.

Of course, she was calling them something much more official that consisted of several words made in to an acronym. Draco hadn't bothered to remember. The one thing he had kept in the back of his mind that this was You Know Who they were dealing with, and he was not the sort of person Draco should be making friends with, or joking around with, or even holding a conversation with. Be that as it may, Tom's manner was rather enthralling to Draco, in a way that rather reminded him of himself. How odd.

But it was rather infectious. From the cold meeting at the Slytherin table, Draco and Tom seemed to be on an odd sort of terms. Draco had clearly been deemed worthy of distant nods in the hallway, which had then progressed to several greetings along the lines of "All right, Draco?" This had lead to Tom actually sitting across from him and treating him to a game of Wizard's Chess, which he was efficiently crushed in. Draco hardly noticed Ron's cold stare from the corner in the common room.

In Draco's opinion, though, Ron seriously needed to get a life. All this skulking around and glaring could not be good for a person. Which was why Draco had hooked his pointer finger in to Ron's collar and swept him in to a broom closet on the way to Transfiguration. "What are you playing at?" Ron had snapped, before Draco had silenced him with a cold hand over his mouth. "Knock it out, would you?" Draco demanded, fixing him with an annoyed stare. "I'm not any more happy to be in close quarters than you are, and the sooner you let me finish, the sooner we're done." For Ron had been making muffled protests around Draco's hands, and inefficiently trying to bite him, which Draco thought very juvenile.

"Good," Draco said, removing his hand. Ron, surprisingly, didn't speak. "Now," he continued. "I'm fully aware of what it looks like, and I'm putting to rest your suspicions before you go running off to tell The Boy Who Lived. We're not friends."

"Of course we're not-" Ron had started, and Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Not us, moron, Tom and I. And if you keep glaring at us you're going to burn a hole in my trousers." Ron looked about to say something that Draco deemed would be unhelpful, and continued on over Ron's sputters. "You might not be a Slytherin, but here's how things work in this house. Unlike Gryffindors," he said sardonically, "We have a sort of cunning. And the point of this is to get under the other person's skin. Got it so far?" Draco demanded, trying not to sound like he was explaining it to a first year. Ron nodded mutely, which he was grateful for. "So, I gain his trust, and figure out his plans. Figure out if he's worth saving, or if the famous Harry Potter should perform an Unforgivable Curse. Now, unless you've got a better idea .."

Draco was not entirely as confident as he may have sounded, but he was very good at faking it. And instead of protesting or saying anything at all, Ron just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he wore glasses. "You're a mess, Draco Malfoy. You're a bloody mess." And for the oddest reason, Draco didn't take this as an insult.


End file.
